All the words he’d meant to say to her were gone now. Mateo knew he was powerless against this … thing that had masqueraded as his friend, as a regular human being. There was no point in shouting his hatred at her, or in begging her for explanations. Something like this didn’t explain. It took what it wanted and destroyed everything that got in the way.
Which meant she could never know Nadia was in the way.
So he went to his last dream and focused on that, only on that. “I dreamed of fire.”
Her eyes glinted as in triumph. “A terrible fire?”
“Yes.”
Elizabeth cocked her head to one side, a gesture so like the friend he remembered that his blood ran cold. “Does the fire kill Nadia Caldani?”
He remembered the sight of Nadia lying amid the fire, her dark hair curling like smoke. “Yes. It does.” Was he making Nadia sound too important in the visions? Would that make Elizabeth go after her? Desperate to protect Nadia, he improvised quickly. “Not only Nadia, though. I dream of everyone here in town—everybody dying.”
“Even me?”
Let Elizabeth be scared along with everyone else for a while. “Yeah. Even you. That’s why I haven’t called. I didn’t want to tell you.”
She flinched. “But you never dream of me any longer. You said so.”
Crap. He’d gotten it wrong.
Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed, and he knew she’d realized he was lying.
Mateo tried to find the words to correct himself, to come up with anything to cover his tracks. But he couldn’t speak.
Literally, he couldn’t. His mouth wouldn’t open; air wouldn’t move through his larynx. He felt as if Elizabeth’s fingers had curled around his throat so tightly it was impossible even to breathe—but she just stood there like before, the same blithe smile on her face.
“Tell me the truth,” she said.
“No, I didn’t dream of you in the fire. I only said that because I wanted you to be scared.” What the hell? Mateo tried to stop himself, but he couldn’t. It was as if he were a puppet in Elizabeth’s hands.
“Why would you want me to be scared? We’re friends.”
As desperately as Mateo attempted to keep his mouth shut, it was impossible. “No, we’re not. You just use me.”
Elizabeth cocked her head. “Who told you that?”
“Nadia.” Damn it!
“Still meddling.”
But the look on Elizabeth’s face was more amused than alarmed. She might as easily have found one of her cats burrowing into the clean laundry. Mateo’s heart sank as he realized that Elizabeth wasn’t afraid of them or of anything they could do. They weren’t a threat as far as she was concerned—and he figured she was probably right.
Her fingertips smoothed along his cheek, half a caress, as she whispered, “Go back to the dream about the fire.”
Wait—where was he?
Mateo stumbled and barely caught himself from falling. As his vision cleared, he saw Elizabeth standing in front of him—golden, inhuman, horrific—and just barely controlled his panic. What did I tell her? Something about the dreams. I told her that I saw her in my dream of the fire, that she died, too. Did she believe me?
Apparently she had. Elizabeth turned around, smoke billowing around her, and walked back into her house without another word.
Probably she’d always dismissed him just like that, and he hadn’t remembered.
Legs shaking, Mateo made his way back toward home. He got all the way to the beach before the cramping in his gut took over, and then he fell down and retched and retched. And yet even when he couldn’t vomit any longer, when he lay there with sand on his face, he knew he hadn’t gotten all the poison out.
Late at night, Nadia sat up in her attic, both Books of Shadows open in front of her.
Every time she deciphered one of Goodwife Hale’s old spells into modern terms, she jotted it into her own book. Not only would it be easier to reference this way, but the spell’s power would also become part of her Book of Shadows.
So she ought to have felt more confident as she transcribed more and more of it. Instead, the fear only got stronger.
She understood so little of this. When she’d been working with her mother, Nadia had felt confident. Mom swore her power was exceptional; she’d studied hard and practiced every single day to make sure that power reached its full potential. All Nadia had ever wanted was to be a real witch, the best one she could possibly be.
Well, now that she didn’t have a teacher, it looked like the best witch she could possibly be sucked.
This book of Goodwife Hale’s—the one she’d thought could give her so many tricks and tips—most of it was completely incomprehensible to her. The terms used were centuries old, archaic. Some of the items needed for more complex spells were things nobody had today—a “spindle from a wheel”? Good luck getting her hands on that. “The first butter from the churn”? Probably Parkay wasn’t going to work.
Even worse, sometimes Nadia could work through the old-timey language enough to realize that complex, intricate magic was described in the book … but she didn’t have the knowledge that would allow her to understand it, much less use it.
Like the final journal entry Goodwife Hale had ever made—it was either far over Nadia’s head or it was nothing but nonsense.
She tried to put it in her own words, to see if she could parse it out. “Magic forms the bars of the cage. The bars of the cage lie beneath us all. To cut through the bars, the magic will be stolen, and only magic can replace it. The strongest force is not in opposition; it is in … partnership. Or something.”
What was that even about?
Head aching, she turned back to the last spell she’d managed to decipher—one for forecasting weather, which would be handy if not exactly life-altering—stuck in a bookmark, and slammed the covers shut. It was well after one a.m.; tomorrow was going to be a four-Diet-Cokes day. Nadia lowered the attic stepladder and made her way down—
—then stopped short as she saw her father standing in the hallway, in pajama pants and an old Northwestern T-shirt. His arms were crossed in front of his chest as he leaned against the wall, obviously waiting for her.
“Did I wake you?” she whispered. The attic steps were close to the door of Cole’s room.
“No.”
Nadia glanced toward Cole’s door. “Oh, no—did he have another nightmare about the monsters?”
“Cole’s fine. I was worried about you.”
She tried to smile for him. “You know I don’t need as much sleep as normal humans.”
But Dad wasn’t going for the joke. “It’s not just the staying up late. You’ve been on edge all week. Are you okay, sweetheart?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“You know you can talk to me, right?”
Like she could ever talk to him about any of this. She’d had to tell Mateo about magic, but he was the only guy she would ever, ever be able to discuss it with. Her dad was totally cut out of this part of her life, forever. And it wasn’t just the magic, either; Dad had spent more time at his law firm than his house until Mom left and forced his hand. He hadn’t been around for virtually any of the most important moments in Nadia’s life. Why did he even pretend to understand her?
Before she could stop herself, she shot back, “The person I need to talk to is Mom.”
His expression crumpled. Nadia had thought it was impossible to feel stupider than she had while getting lost in those ancient spells—but she’d been so wrong. Now she felt stupid and evil.
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, I just—I need to go to bed.” Nadia pushed past her father to get to her own room. He didn’t follow her, or knock after she shut the door.
So she was alone as she lay there in bed, tears streaming down her face. It was weird how hurting someone you loved was even worse than being hurt. That stayed with you longer, and weighed you down all through the night into dawn.
13
“SO, ARE YO
U WEARING A COSTUME TO THE HALLOWEEN carnival?”
Mateo looked up from the stuff in his plastic cup. “What?”
Kendall Bender—who was the one throwing the party, or at any rate was the one who brought the cooler now holding the beers—shouted over the music. “Are you, like, wearing a costume? Because I know sometimes guys are like, that’s so gay, not gay as in actual gay but gay as in not cool, except I guess maybe some costumes are actual gay if they’re, like, drag and makeup or something, but then on the other hand some guys like to wear, like, horror costumes and look all badass and so I was wondering if you were going to maybe do something like that?”
He shrugged. Halloween was too far away to care about.
Somehow Kendall took this as encouragement. “I’m going to go as a geisha girl, but, like, a sexy geisha girl, so the kimono is, like, all short and stuff, and I saw the costume comes with this wig, and I was going to do this makeup with my eyes but then somebody said that was racist, and I went, um, you are way too PC, and, like, you have to think for yourself. Right?”
“I wouldn’t treat someone else’s race as a costume.”
Her face fell. “I forgot you aren’t white. Sorry! Do you want another drink?”
He did, badly, even though he wasn’t even halfway done with this one yet. But he wanted Kendall to leave him alone even more. “I’m good.”
“Okay, well, bye.” She jogged through the sand to the main group, where the music and laughter were loudest, and the light from the dock shone more brightly. Mateo figured the shadows suited him better.
“You think she’d forget I’m not white?” Gage appeared at his side; Mateo had almost forgotten he was still around. “Doubt it. Anyway, don’t you count as the Caucasian persuasion? You’re half, like, Pilgrim.”
“The other half is Mexican, and in this uptight town? People notice.”
Which was true enough. But of course it was the Cabot half everybody saw when they looked at him, the part they couldn’t get over. That was the reason Kendall was laughing with her friends now, making that little swirly gesture beside her temple that meant crazy.
He was cursed, not crazy. Mateo was reminded of that every time he looked in the mirror and saw the storm cloud writhing around his head. And he was reminded that the person who had cursed him was—
Mateo closed his eyes tightly against the pain.
“You’re kinda slamming them back, there,” Gage said.
“Looks like a cup you’ve got in your hand.”
“This is Sprite. Even if I did have a beer, I’d just be chilling. You’re—it’s like you’re trying to get yourself to pass out or something. Again.”
“I’m fine.”
“You won’t be for long, if you keep that up.” Gage shifted his weight from foot to foot, awkward now. “Dude, the last few days—no, all week—you haven’t been … right.”
Well, that was one way to put it. Haunted by the dark visions of magic that surrounded his home and his town and his own head, racked by dreams that showed Nadia Caldani dying over and over again, avoiding Nadia even though she was the only person he really wanted to see, and knowing that the one responsible for all this pain was the girl he’d believed was his best and only friend: “Not right.” Sure.
“This is about Elizabeth, isn’t it?” When Mateo turned to stare, Gage shrugged. “You guys were hand in glove all summer; you haven’t gone near her for weeks.”
“Nope.” Once again he thought of the monstrous, unearthly thing Elizabeth really was. Saw the waxen, gilded animal face that shone out from behind her skin. Mateo shuddered. “I’ll go near her again sometime. Promise you that.”
Mateo was pretty sure the first time he acknowledged who Elizabeth really was, what she could really do, he was going to kill her. Really. With his hands. He had always thought he could never do that, kill someone, except maybe in a war but maybe not even then; now he spent about half his waking hours imagining what it would feel like to get his hands around Elizabeth Pike’s throat.
Which was a gross thing to think about. It was like letting a monster sit inside his head and give him notes. But he didn’t seem to be able to throw the monster out.
Gage said, “That sounds like, I don’t know, what did they used to call it? A lovers’ quarrel.”
“You still want to ask her out, don’t you?” Mateo gulped down some more of his drink; it tasted foul, but that didn’t matter. “Stay away from Elizabeth Pike, man. Trust me on this.”
Gage held up his hands, as if in surrender. “Hey, I know the guy code. I’m not going anywhere near your ex.”
“We were only friends,” Mateo said, though the last word stuck in his mouth. All it meant now was that he’d never kissed her. That was the only lie she’d spared him. Why did she stop there? Probably it just would have been too much trouble.
She only took the trouble to pretend to be the one real friend he’d ever known.
“Still. I respect that you need some boundaries there. Okay? But you’re not acting like yourself, and now you want to party with the same stupid people I know you hate. You’re cutting school. No matter what went down with you and Elizabeth, maybe it’s time to get a grip.”
Easy for Gage to say—
But then Mateo realized that he might have had one real friend after all.
He and Gage hadn’t known each other that long, and this was definitely the longest conversation they’d ever had—but Gage was trying to look out for him. This was not an easy talk to have with someone, but they were having it.
Not that it was any of Gage’s business what he did. But—maybe the guy had a point.
Besides, Mateo was past ready to drop this whole scene. The school had called Dad, and he was sick of getting yelled at. He didn’t even enjoy drinking like this. It made him sick and stupid, and feeling either way sucked.
Maybe he was just done.
“You’re right.” Mateo sucked in a deep breath that smelled of salt air. “You’re totally right. I’m standing around feeling sorry for myself, instead of—”
Instead of spending time with Nadia.
Learning whether he could truly trust her, or any witch.
Finding out what it meant to be her Steadfast, and seeing whether he could help her take Elizabeth down.
“Instead of doing what I should be doing,” he finished.
Gage smiled a little. “Can we start with ditching this party? I can drive. We could get some sliders at the White Castle, maybe.”
“Yeah. Let’s.” Mateo tossed his cup into the nearest can. No need to tell Kendall good-bye.
“Come on. Race you!” Gage took off, and Mateo tried to catch him. When Gage started laughing, it felt for one moment like everything was okay—like Mateo was just a guy, no different from anybody else.
But overhead, the stars twisted in the horrible, roiling sky.
“Draw Four!” Cole slapped down his Uno card, and both Nadia and her dad groaned in mock horror.
While her little brother cackled in glee, Dad said, “You sure you didn’t stack the deck?”
“Nope.” Cole’s feet swung back and forth beneath the dining table’s bench. “I’m just that good.”
As Dad laughed, Nadia heard her phone chime with a text message, but she ignored it for the moment. Cole hadn’t been sleeping well lately—not the nightmares, not like before. But he was restless, getting up two or three times a night to ask for water or turn on random lights. That was a bad sign, one Nadia recognized as well as her father by now. They were concentrating on Cole now, trying to get him back to the good place he’d been in just after the move.
And worrying about Cole meant she didn’t have as much time to worry about everything else.
“So tomorrow I thought I’d make chicken soft tacos,” she said as she threw down a card. “What do you say to that?”
She’d expected Cole to cheer and Dad to simply agree, but Dad was the one who answered first. “You’ve been spending too much time in the kitchen
lately. You should be going out. Having fun. If you want tacos—why don’t we go to that Mexican place in town? La Catrina? That’s the one.”
Nadia felt it almost like a slap.
“And that guy works there, right?” Dad gave her a look as he played his own card. “Mateo. The superhero.”
“He’s not a superhero,” Nadia insisted, though even now she couldn’t forget how Mateo had looked in the first moment she’d seen him, his face illuminated by lightning.
“Ah, but he’s not available. I forgot.” There was no way she was going to correct Dad on that one; if he found out Mateo wasn’t dating anybody, he was likely to suggest Nadia should propose. “Well, we could eat out somewhere else. Drive over to the next town, get some pizza, maybe. If La Catrina is a, I don’t know, a sensitive subject.”
“Pizza!” Cole crowed, before playing his Reverse card.
Between her brother the cutthroat Uno prodigy and her dad in look-I’m-so-sensitive mode, Nadia thought she needed a break from the table. “Hang on. I’m gonna check my phone.”
Obviously the text would be from Verlaine. They weren’t friends, exactly—there was something about Verlaine that kept Nadia feeling oddly distant—but they got along, and they were partners in figuring out whatever it was Elizabeth was up to. So this text would be either about the weird patterns of disasters spreading through Captive’s Sound and what they might mean—or questions about Novels class. Everything had been quiet today, so Nadia figured it was about Novels class, even though it was weird for Verlaine to be worrying about homework on a Friday night.
Instead, the screen read, Message From Mateo Perez.
Nadia sucked in a breath. For a moment she just stared down at the screen. Then she thumbed the message open to see: Meet me tomorrow at the beach? By my house. My lunch shift ends at 3.
Nadia wanted to go there tomorrow and just smack him. Mateo didn’t get to ignore her for a whole week and then just command her to show up at his convenience. No way.